


You Got This Room For Two

by TearCatcher



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/pseuds/TearCatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he didn’t know what direction they were heading in. When they were making out, Pete would crawl into Patrick's lap and grind his ass onto his hard-on desperately. Then he had upped the ante:  the last few times Patrick had given him head, Pete had spread his legs wide, the thrusting of his hips anything but subtle. Patrick knew what Pete wanted, but he had no idea how to give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got This Room For Two

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the fic I wanted to read. Thank you once again to the lovely MsPeppernose for the beta -- and for listening to me talk about this forever! Title is from "Your Body is a Wonderland" because I'm ridiculous.

"Hey, Patrick - Patrick!" Pete hisses from the driver's seat, his voice barely rising over the Smiths droning through the front speakers of the van. "Are you awake?"

Patrick, who is trying his best to fall asleep with his head pillowed on the seatbelt of an old, smelly cargo van, replies, "Fuck, I am now, Pete," a little grumpier than he intends. After all, it is his job as "co-pilot" to assist the driver, keeping him supplied with music and snacks and, more importantly, making sure he stays awake as they speed through the night down a long, boring stretch of highway. He watches Pete glance in the rearview mirror at their bandmates. Joe can be heard in the very back, talking quietly on the phone to his girlfriend, and Andy is stretched out on the bench seat in the middle row, the lack of tinny music coming from his headphones a reliable indication he is asleep.

"I got something when we stopped for gas," Pete says in a low voice, his eyes focused on the road again. He's trying to sound casual, but his fidgeting fingers on the steering wheel give away his nerves.

"O-kaay," Patrick says suspiciously. They'd stopped for gas over an hour ago. He has a feeling Pete isn't talking about Skittles.

Pete tosses a small, hard object into Patrick's lap and it bounces off of him onto the floor. "Goddammit, Pete," Patrick mutters, bending down to retrieve - is that hand sanitizer? He sits up, blinking at the small plastic bottle in his hand, before it dawns on him that he is in fact holding a bottle of personal lubricant. He quickly snatches it to his body, covering it with his hand and glancing nervously over his shoulder to make sure no one else noticed.

Pete is peering at him out of the corner of his eye, still paying remarkable attention to the road, still trying to play it cool despite the obvious tension in his body.

Patrick doesn't know how to respond. It's not like he didn’t know what direction they were heading in. When they were making out, Pete would crawl into Patrick's lap and grind his ass onto his hard-on desperately. Then he had upped the ante: the last few times Patrick had given him head, Pete had spread his legs wide, the thrusting of his hips anything but subtle. Patrick knew what Pete wanted, but had no idea how to give it to him. He had let his fingers trail all the way to the back underside of his balls, prompting loud moaning as Pete wriggled his ass, searching for more contact, but he didn't know how to proceed from there. Should he just start poking around, or should he spit on his fingers or what? Well, it seemed Pete had decided to help him along.

He knows Pete is waiting for a response, and he also knows he needs to provide one quickly so that his hesitation is not mistaken for reluctance. "I thought it would be in a tube, like toothpaste," is what he ends up blurting out, his ears feeling like they're on fire.

At this, Pete turns to look at him, a fond smile playing on his lips. Whether he will admit it or not, he likes the fact that Patrick is 17 and inexperienced, and this is more proof of his innocence. It's not that Pete enjoys being five years older and corrupting him inasmuch as he likes knowing he's the one and only.

"You can squirt some out and see how it feels," he suggests quietly, his voice taking on a dark note of arousal.

Patrick glances into the back again. "No, that's okay," he says quickly. "I'll just...wait." He shifts to the side and stuffs the lube into the pocket of his jeans, grateful Pete had gotten a small bottle and hadn't decided to pick up the economy-size or something.

"Do you want to use it, though?" Pete asks hopefully. "With me?" Obnoxious, attention-seeking Pete Wentz, full of bravado but actually insecure underneath it all. Patrick sees right through the facade and his heart melts.

"Of course I do, Pete," he assures him, but his confidence falters and he looks down into his lap and adds, “I just have no idea what I'm doing."

"Hey," Pete says softly, reaching over and placing a soothing hand on the back of his neck, "we'll figure it out together, okay?"

Patrick turns his head, tilting it at Pete questioningly. "I thought you knew what you were doing?"

Pete takes his hand back, squirming a little. "Well, yeah, but not, uh, on the receiving end," he admits, and Patrick knows his mouth has totally dropped open.

"Really?" he says incredulously, suddenly elated that this isn't going to be a first for just one of them.

"Never wanted to before," Pete mumbles, ducking his head slightly even though his eyes are trained on the road. "Not until you."

Patrick can't help it - a huge grin spreads slowly across his face, accompanied by a fluttering in his chest. Pete glances over at him and, seeing his grin, returns it almost shyly as they lock eyes for a moment.

"It's gonna be rad, you'll see," Pete proclaims with renewed confidence, the tension gone from his shoulders.

Patrick, who still can't erase the grin from his face, rolls his eyes slightly. Leave it to Pete to describe anal sex as "rad". He just hopes he can make it good for him.

They arrive at the motel a few hours later. It's almost dawn, and they have another show that night. They grab their bags and file into the room, Pete claiming the bed by the window for him and Patrick, Joe claiming the first shower. Patrick couldn't fall back asleep during the drive, unable to quit thinking about Pete's "gift" and its implications. He's so tired he contemplates postponing his own shower until he wakes up the next day. He's not sure he cares whether he crawls into bed all grubby, and he knows Pete won't mind. There's no way he can stay awake long enough for the others to fall asleep for them to fool around anyway. Joe is mercifully quick in the bathroom, however, and Andy, who is briefly reenergized from his nap in the van, defers the next shower to Patrick.

"You can go ahead, Hurley," Pete pipes up, making Patrick whip his head in his direction and glare. Pete gives him a beseeching look and Patrick sighs, too tired to even try putting up a fight.

"Yeah, go ahead, dude," he mutters. When Andy shuts the bathroom door and Joe steps outside to smoke, he looks at Pete sternly and says, "I am really tired, Pete. All I want to do is take a shower and go to sleep." He's definitely not going to let on he's terrified that Pete wants to open up the bottle of lube tonight.

Pete smiles that innocent smile that Patrick learned long ago is anything but. "I was just thinking maybe we could share."

Patrick's dick twitches in his pants despite his fatigue. That’s something they’ve never done before. "We have to play another show _tonight_ , Pete," he reminds him, "and some of us actually require sleep."

Pete's expression is earnest but his eyes are twinkling. "I'll even make sure not to turn the water up too hot so it doesn't bother your delicate skin.”

"I'm showering alone tonight, Pete," he says loudly, just as Joe walks in.

"You're a big boy now, Patrick, I think you can handle it," Joe comments, and Patrick glares daggers at Pete.

Andy shows the same courtesy as Joe did with his time in the shower. Patrick grabs his stuff and marches into the bathroom, all but slamming the door behind him, although against his better judgment he doesn't lock it. He doesn't want Pete to think he's actually mad at him or anything.

Patrick washes quickly, rushing to finish before Pete decides to jump in with him. Patrick would like to feel better prepared and more well-rested before he loses his virginity - not to mention he doesn't want such a momentous event to take place in close proximity to a toilet. He turns off the shower, trying to think of what his ideal scenario would be - obviously it can't happen on the road because they're always sharing a room; Pete's house is rarely empty; maybe Patrick's bedroom if he knows no one will come home and interrupt them… Patrick is startled out of his reverie when he pulls back the curtain and sees Pete standing right there.

"Goddammit, Pete!" he snaps, grabbing a towel and covering himself hastily. That motherfucker is a ninja sometimes. Patrick hadn't even heard him come in.

"Sorry, Pattycakes," he lies, grinning from ear to ear. "Did you enjoy your shower all by yourself?"

Patrick just glares at him, squirming a little because he's never comfortable naked, especially under harsh fluorescent lighting with Pete fully dressed in front of him. A lot of the stuff they've been doing has involved merely moving enough of Patrick's clothing out of the way to get the job done.

"Need help drying off?" Pete's grin has officially moved into the category of predatory. To his credit, he makes an effort to keep his eyes on Patrick's face now that he understands how much it bothers Patrick when he ogles him.

"Don't you need a shower, too?" Patrick asks pointedly, feeling sweat beading up on his (freshly washed, dammit) skin.

"I have plans first," Pete says dismissively, reaching out to cup Patrick's crotch through the thin motel towel.

Patrick about loses his footing as his hips instinctively react to Pete's touch. "Pete," he says, going for warning but only succeeding in sounding desperate.

“It’ll help you sleep,” Pete sing-songs, tracing the outline of Patrick's cock, already half hard, with his fingertip. 

“I don’t need help sleeping,” Patrick counters breathlessly.

“It’ll help me sleep, then,” says Pete.

Patrick snorts. Highly unlikely. If anything, orgasms seem to invigorate Pete.

“Can I?” Pete murmurs, bending his head to mouth softly at the junction of Patrick’s neck and shoulder, gently squeezing his cock.

Patrick groans and braces himself on one arm on the shower wall, keeping the other across his chest to hold the towel in place. “Can you what?” he grits out, remembering he's supposed to be pissy about something, but fuck it all if he can remember what.

Pete sinks his teeth ever-so-slightly into the tendon in Patrick's neck, making his dick jump in Pete’s hand. “Can I suck you?” Another, slightly harder bite, and Patrick is achingly hard. “I've been thinking about it all night.”

“Oh, god,” Patrick moans, trying to keep his volume under control.

“Is that a yes?” Patrick can hear the satisfaction in Pete’s voice and feel his smile against his neck. But he can also feel Pete’s hard-on against his hip and soon will feel his mouth around his cock, so he really doesn’t care anymore.

“Yes, it’s a yes,” Patrick gasps. 

Pete wastes no time clambering into the tub, fully clothed, and dropping onto his knees. He places his hands on Patrick’s hips and nudges him slightly backwards to rest against the shower wall above the faucet. Patrick pulls the towel up, keeping it clutched to his chest, and before he knows it his head is tipped back and his hips are rocking slightly into the wet heat of Pete's mouth. Pete’s blowjobs transport him to a separate plane of existence, and Patrick's almost there when he suddenly, inexplicably thinks of the little plastic bottle that is currently housed in the pocket of the dirty, holey jeans he left draped over the counter. Is Pete hoping to use it? He seems awfully eager tonight. (But when isn't he?)

Patrick’s hips stop rocking, and his orgasm now seems not so imminent. Pete pulls off and looks up at him while continuing to work him with his hand. “Something wrong?”

“I'm just tired,” Patrick mutters, unable to look directly at him. “I tried telling you that.” Using his irritability as a shield, he adds, “And you didn't even let me dry off.”

“I’m so sorry,” Pete says sarcastically. He gives Patrick's dick a quick yank to get his attention, and when Patrick looks down he says, “I promise I'll make it quick and stop bothering you.” He opens his mouth, his pink tongue hanging out over his bottom lip, and slides down far onto Patrick’s cock, maintaining eye contact until it's impossible.

Patrick throws his head back against the wall, barely registering the thud it makes. Okay, if Pete says he's going to make it quick, surely that means he's not planning on using the lube tonight. That reassurance should help Patrick relax and enjoy the incredible things Pete is doing with his mouth and tongue, but in the back of his mind he's silently freaking out because even though tonight won't be the night, Pete is certainly expecting the night to be soon, and at this moment Patrick doesn't know if he's going to be ready, ever. The stimulation Pete is giving him is too good to make his hard-on wilt, but he's so preoccupied now that coming seems like a distant possibility. He looks down and watches Pete's dark head bobbing back and forth, which is something he normally can't do without blowing his load, but even that doesn't help. He settles for a different type of assistance: keeping one hand clutched in the towel over his chest, he sinks the other into Pete's thick, wiry hair, grasping it tightly and pushing and pulling ever so slightly with the momentum. Pete fucking _moans_ around his cock, the sound reverberating throughout it. Patrick is surprised both at Pete for how much he obviously likes it, and at himself for the dark urge he suddenly has to grip Pete's hair tighter and shove his head more forcefully down onto his cock, maybe even make him gag a little. He opens his hand and experimentally gathers up a bigger handful of Pete's hair, clutching it in his fist, causing Pete to make an inhuman sound and - what? - pull off, but only long enough to rip open his own jeans and spit into his hand. Patrick can see Pete's arm moving furiously as he jerks himself off, and he’s mouthing wetly down the length of Patrick’s cock, pulling with intent against the tension of Patrick’s tight grip in his hair. Patrick takes the hint and guides Pete's head until his mouth is at the head of his cock again, but Pete suddenly freezes, his face contorting as he comes. “I can't wait for you to fuck me,” Pete gasps before swallowing him down deeper than Patrick thought possible. Just like that Patrick's done for, coming down Pete's throat while he holds his head in place by his hair, until he registers the fact that Pete is pushing on his thighs, signaling he needs to back away. He quickly lets go and stares down at Pete wide-eyed, panting heavily. Pete's eyes are watery and he looks as dazed as Patrick feels, and his lips are red, swollen and shiny with saliva. Patrick's files away this image immediately, knowing it'll be spank bank material for the rest of his natural born life.

He's still gazing down at him in awe when Pete suddenly sucks in a long, wet-sounding snort, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Dude, I think I have come in my sinuses,” he remarks, and Patrick suspects he's exaggerating how stuffy he sounds.

“I'm glad I just came, because that noise was the very definition of boner killer,” Patrick tells him, rearranging the towel to better cover himself.

****

Despite not getting nearly enough sleep, the show that night is fabulous, albeit low-paying, but they make up for it by driving a few hours to the next town they're playing and staying at a friend of Andy’s. Pete tries to half-heartedly cajole Patrick into “sleeping” in the van with him, but Patrick's at his limit for sleep deprivation and Andy’s friend actually has air conditioning. They curl up together on a rickety futon under Pete's Voltron sleeping bag, and Patrick's just about to drop off when Pete turns so quickly to face him it startles him.

The only light in the room is coming from the street lights leaking through the blinds, striping Pete’s face. Patrick can easily see Pete's eyes, wide and serious. “Do you love me?” Pete asks, looking like he's bracing himself for the answer.

Patrick almost says “Are you fucking kidding me?” because seriously - Pete has to wait until Patrick is on the precipice of sleep to broach this subject? But of course that's not the right response, and he wants to take that somewhat terrified look off Pete's face, so he keeps his focus on Pete's eyes - so dark in the dim light, but he knows the flecks of green and gold are there - and he lets the feeling it gives him consume him. His heart swells and his stomach flutters like always, and he hopes Pete can see enough of Patrick's eyes to know how much he means it when he says, “Of course I do, Pete.”

Pete doesn't look satisfied. “You never say it back,” he says dejectedly, rolling onto his back. 

Patrick's mind is racing a mile a minute and he's searching for the right words and he's not sure he understands what the fuck is going on here. Pete only says “I love you” to Patrick when he's goofing around - he’ll scare the shit out of him by giving him a tackling hug from behind and planting a wet sloppy kiss on his cheek and then he'll say it, or he'll say it after cajoling Patrick out of his last piece of gum, or he’ll shout it and pounce on Patrick right after they get off stage and he's all hyped up. Never a scenario in which Patrick felt it necessary or appropriate to say “I love you, too”. But this is Pete he's dealing with, and it had never occurred to Patrick that Pete was testing the waters and gauging Patrick's reaction by declaring his love for him in unorthodox ways.

“I never knew you meant it,” Patrick says helplessly. 

“Of course I meant it!” Pete says indignantly, propping himself up on his elbow to glare at him.

Patrick fights the urge to tell Pete off. He tamps down the ember of anger that has flared up within him, swallows hard, looks deep into Pete's eyes, and quietly says, with as much sincerity he can muster, “I love you.”

Pete's face softens and his mouth curls up into a smile that Patrick can't help but return. “I love you, too,” he says happily. They kiss slow and sweet before hands start wandering, and Pete's Voltron sleeping bag ends up desperately needing a wash.

They're opening for a local band that night, so they play relatively early. Their gear is all packed up and loaded into the van by the time they normally would be just taking the stage. Patrick's interested in seeing this band - they've made a name for themselves and even the Chicago scene is familiar with them - but Pete is bouncing on his heels and looking at him meaningfully as soon as the back door to the van is shut. He's up to something. 

“What's up, Pete?” Patrick asks suspiciously, giving him the once over. 

“Let's go back to the hotel,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Patrick feels like his blood has been replaced with ice water. “Andy looked pretty interested in that girl he was talking to,” he hedges. “I think it’s his turn to have the room to himself for awhile.”

Pete grins triumphantly. “I’m going to get a room for just me and you,” he says, puffing out his chest.

“Where’d you get the extra money?” Patrick asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I have my ways,” Pete replies smugly.

“You called your mom, didn’t you?” Patrick asks.

Pete has no shame. “Shut the fuck up,” he says cheerfully. “I was going to get candles and rose petals, too, but now I don’t think you deserve it.”

Patrick laughs despite himself, and it eases some of the tension within him. They grab their meager luggage and walk the couple blocks to the hotel together, leaving the van behind for their bandmates. While Pete reserves the room, Patrick lurks in the corner of the lobby, feeling vaguely dirty.

The room they get is no different than the others in the string of reasonably clean and budget-priced rooms they’ve been accustomed to, but as they enter it Patrick can’t help but look at it in a completely new light, with the knowledge of what is going to take place. His heart is pounding in his chest as he takes in the double beds with scratchy yellow bedspreads that match the tacky curtains, the minimal cheap furniture, and tiny bathroom. He’s half expecting Pete to pounce on him the moment the door shuts, but instead he sweeps his arm out gallantly in the direction of the bathroom and says, “First shower’s yours, Pattycakes.” When Patrick gives him an uneasy look, Pete seems to get it. “Take your time and relax,” he says in a quiet, very un-Petelike voice. “I won’t bother you.” Then he breaks out his trademark leer. “Besides, we’ve got the whole night to ourselves.”

Patrick has never had such a preoccupied shower. He washes his hair twice in his nervousness, trying to think of anything but what the night has in store for him. He’s going to just trust Pete and follow his lead, and he’s sure everything will be fine. That philosophy has worked out great for him so far, after all. He puts on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt when he gets out of the shower, feeling a little ridiculous emerging from the bathroom in his underwear. Pete just gives him a smile and a quick smack on the ass as he passes him on the way to take his turn. 

Patrick has barely had time to sort through his duffel bag, attempting to separate his clothes into the categories of dirty and not-so-dirty, when Pete reemerges from the bathroom, one of the tiny, frayed motel towels wrapped around his waist. Patrick's eyes automatically flick downward to the jut of Pete's hipbones peeking out of the towel, following the path of the distinct v-line that runs under his bat heart tattoo. Patrick can feel his entire body flushing, heat creeping up his neck and and down his belly, straight to his dick. His face flushes even more when he looks up and sees Pete grinning knowingly at him, amused that Patrick is so aroused simply by looking at him.

"So, Patrick," Pete says, walking slowly and deliberately toward him, "we're finally alone together."

"Way to state the obvious," Patrick says, trying to play it cool through sarcasm, although he's too nervous to throw in an eye roll.

Pete is now standing an arm's length away from him. "What are we going to do with all this time, just me and you, with a bed all to ourselves?" He's smirking a little, the bastard, knowing full well he has the upper hand. Patrick finds this ironic, considering Pete wants him to fuck him up the ass. _Oh my god, Pete wants me to fuck him up the ass_ , he thinks, swallowing hard, his cock already starting to swell.

"Catch up on sleep?" Patrick manages to say, because Pete may be stupidly hot, but he's not going to let him be a smug asshole about it.

Pete steps closer, into Patrick's personal space. He smells like shaving cream and the same soap Patrick used, but of course he hasn't washed his hair. (Patrick should probably be disturbed by how much he enjoys the smell of Pete's dirty hair.) "You weren't looking at me like sleep was on your mind just then, Trick," Pete says, looking at Patrick through half-lidded eyes, then focusing on his mouth.

Patrick darts out his tongue before briefly biting his lower lip, feeling gratified when Pete's eyes widen and his breath hitches. "I might be persuaded to stay up for a while," he says with what he thinks is an impressive amount of nonchalance.

Pete leans in and gently mouths at the skin on Patrick's neck, pressing his tongue flat against his pulse. Patrick can't hold in his groan. "Are you playing hard to get, Patrick?" Pete mutters into his neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in a trail up to his ear. "Are you trying to get me to beg or something?" he whispers. "Because I will."

Just the thought of Pete begging for him makes a guttural moan escape from his throat, and he's suddenly in desperate need of friction, pulling Pete's body close to his and grinding against him, seeking his mouth with his own. They're collapsed on the bed in no time in a tangle of limbs and lips, Pete's towel left behind on the floor, his hard, hot cock poking into the softness of Patrick's belly. Patrick takes it into his hand and thumbs the underside of the head just the way Pete likes and the effect is instantaneous: Pete moans, bucks into Patrick's hand, and spreads his thighs eagerly, making Patrick's own cock throb at how responsive he is.

"Patrick," Pete gasps, "do you know where the stuff is?"

Patrick's hand freezes on Pete's dick. As if he hasn't been preoccupied by that little plastic bottle since Pete first tossed it into his lap. "Uh, yeah," he replies stupidly, not expecting things to have moved so quickly. 

"Go get it," Pete instructs, snapping his hips to punctuate his sentence and convey his impatience.

Patrick moves off the bed in a daze to grab the bottle of lube out of the side pocket of his duffel bag. He turns around to see Pete in the middle of the bed, knees bent and slightly spread as he strokes himself slowly. Patrick’s own cock jumps, and for a moment he just stares, transfixed by the sight.

Pete gives him a small grin and raises his eyebrows at him, but he's not smirking. "C'mon, Patrick," he urges softly.

Taking a fortifying breath, Patrick approaches the bed and sits down next to Pete, who immediately reaches for him, pulling him down for deep, wet kisses. Patrick leans on the hand with the lube in it and runs the other down Pete's side, relishing the feel of his ribcage and the lean muscle of his thigh. The initial urge Patrick had to come all over himself has passed, and he starts grinding against the side of Pete's hip as they kiss sloppily, more concerned with maximum tongue contact than any real finesse. Pete is bucking up into the air, searching for pressure on his cock, and Patrick complies, squeezing to feel the blood pulsating under his hand. Pete spreads his thighs and his hips wiggle obscenely.

Pete pulls his mouth away from Patrick's, turning his head to say breathlessly, "First, you gotta open me up with your fingers."

_Holy shit._ Patrick freezes for a second, feeling the oddest mixture of intense arousal and abject terror at Pete's instructions. "Uh - how do - what?" he stutters, his face burning with embarrassment as he tries to shove it into Pete's neck and hide. Up until this moment, he thought he was just going to ease his dick inside Pete somehow, but now that he thinks about it he realizes that gradually building up to it makes sense.

Pete cups Patrick's jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. He has an incredibly gentle look on his face. "It's okay," he says softly. "We're figuring this out together, remember?"

Patrick, entranced by the green gold of Pete's eyes, feels himself start to relax and nods slightly. Pete smiles and leans up for another kiss, slow and sweet this time, until Patrick reaches for Pete's cock and their kissing grows desperate again.

"Give me the bottle," Pete pants against Patrick's mouth, and Patrick sucks in a shaky breath and sits up, noting to himself that Pete has yet to say the word "lube" out loud. He hands the bottle over to Pete, who flicks the cap open and grabs Patrick's right hand by the wrist. Patrick holds it out to him hesitantly, palm up, unsure of how he should position it. Pete grips the base of the first two fingers, and squirts a generous amount of lube onto them, Patrick's eyes wide as he watches. It's cool and gel-like, more watery than he was expecting.

"Start with one," Pete says, barely above a whisper, and turns away to position himself on all fours.

Patrick is stunned again. Never mind the fact that he has never seen Pete (or anyone) in this position before; he has also never in his life understood how spanking was erotic until right now. Pete's sticking his perfect, round ass up in the air, and it looks like it's just asking to be smacked.

"Patrick," Pete almost whines, spreading his knees apart more and leaning down onto his elbows, his face buried his arms, revealing the darker skin on the inside of his ass crack and the small pucker in the center. "Small" being the operative word. Patrick stares at Pete's asshole for a moment, wondering how the hell he's going to fit a finger in there, let alone his entire dick. Or do people not usually stick it in all the way? He's not worried about just Pete getting hurt, either - that looks tight enough to pinch his dick off.

"Rub the stuff on the outside first," Pete instructs, sounding a little hesitant. "Don't be afraid to use as much as you need."

Hearing the slight fear in Pete's voice moves Patrick into action, wanting to reassure him. He moves closer to Pete and strokes his non-lubed hand down his back comfortingly, letting out a tiny laugh when he gets close to his ass and Pete jerks it up into the air, like a cat. "Eager much?" he teases.

"I thought that was obvious," Pete says breathily. "Dude, let's do this."

Another deep breath, and Patrick reaches in between Pete's ass cheeks. Pete moans as soon as his fingers make contact. Patrick rubs the lube all around the ridge of muscle, his callused fingertips catching it slightly. Pete is moving his hips in small circles, making desperate sounds low in his throat. "Try it now," he whispers.

"Should I put more -" Patrick starts.

"Yeah.” Pete grabs the bottle and hands it to Patrick. "I don't think there's such thing as too much."

Patrick squirts more onto his fingertips, wondering if maybe he should start with his pinkie. But Pete had purposely lubed up the first two, so obviously that's what he wanted. And it would take approximately 100 years to work his way through all of his fingers, and his poor dick can't handle that. He has to push down on it to soothe it, fighting the urge to stroke himself.

Pete lets out a deep breath of his own. "C'mon, Patrick."

It seems that using his middle finger first is the way to go, for easiest access. Patrick starts circling it around Pete's hole, letting it dip into the center as he rubs, and it seems like it actually is starting to open up a little for him, although not nearly enough to accommodate even his fingertip. Pete continues to move his hips and make desperate, obscene noises. Patrick thinks his dick may be in real danger of bursting. He makes the circles smaller until he's rubbing directly in the middle, feeling the bizarre twitching of the muscle as he applies a little pressure.

"Put it in," Pete demands, sounding impatient.

Patrick puts some force into it now, and he's surprised at how easily the tip of his finger breaches the tight barrier of muscle. Pete moves his hips backwards cautiously with a gasp, making the finger slide in deeper, and Patrick discovers that the entrance is like a thick tube, and once he gets past it everything is soft and hot and not as tight. He moves his finger experimentally back and forth without removing it completely, marveling at the easy slide. Pete's muscles twitch slightly around it, but he seems to have relaxed.

“Now another one,” Pete mumbles into his arms, head down. Patrick wishes he could see his face. This almost seems clinical, detached.

“Uh, Pete,” he says cautiously, “is there any way we could do this with you, like, on your back, maybe?”

Pete seems to get it, thankfully. “Yeah,” he gasps, hissing slightly when Patrick pulls out his finger. He drops down and rolls onto his back, his face flushed and red. He plants his feet flat on the mattress and spreads his legs wide, tilting his hips up and throwing his head back a little. His balls are drawn up tight to his body, making his ass easily accessible, his cock full and heavy on his stomach and seemingly pulsing involuntarily. He throws one arm over his eyes and grips the sheets with his other hand. “Now use two.”

_God, he's so...slutty_ , Patrick thinks, squeezing himself through his boxers and holding in a whimper, hurrying to swipe his fingers through the glob of lube that is still clinging to Pete's ass crack. Pete spreads his thighs even wider as soon as he feels Patrick's touch, letting out a whimper of his own. Patrick instinctively crosses his fingers together and starts to ease them inside, finding more of that initial resistance now that he's penetrating him twice as much. Pete tenses for a moment and Patrick freezes, but then Pete relaxes and so does the muscle around Patrick's fingers, allowing Patrick to ease them inside until the knuckles of his last two fingers keep him from going any farther. He pulls them back, feeling more of a drag this time and seeing Pete wince, so he picks up the lube and squeezes a bit more out before proceeding. A few more slow pumps of his fingers, and they're sliding in and out, Pete's ass accommodating them like they're meant to be there. Patrick tears his eyes away from his fingers going in and out of Pete's ass and is stunned by what he sees. Pete has both hands fisted in the pillow behind his head, displaying his lean physique perfectly. His head is thrown back and he’s biting his lip, his face flushed and his eyes squeezed tight. His cock is hard and swollen, the tip dark red and lying heavily on his batheart tattoo. He's making low noises deep in his throat, and begins moving his hips in sync with Patrick's fingers, the muscles in his stomach and thighs flexing under tawny skin.

Patrick makes an involuntary noise and squirms. His dick is throbbing uncomfortably, and he wants to grab it to try to relieve the pressure, but he's afraid the lightest touch is going to make him explode. Then Pete shifts his hips and Patrick’s fingers graze a soft, round knot and Pete suddenly starts grinding back hard, fucking himself on Patrick's fingers, groaning, “Fuck, that feels good,” and his cock is leaking so much it's sticking to the batheart. Patrick can't take any more. “Pete, I don't think I can do this,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly. He can hear the waver in his voice.

Pete's eyes fly open and he sits up, crossing his arms protectively across himself. “You changed your mind?” he demands, raw hurt on his face.

“No!” Patrick rushes to explain, knowing brutal honesty is the only way to go here. “I'm about to come in my pants,” he admits in a small voice, heat creeping up his neck and onto his face like wildfire.

Pete blinks, then slowly grins. “Oh.”

Patrick's not even sure what happens, but all of a sudden he's on his back, his boxers are yanked off, his cock is wrapped in wet heat, and he's coming in Pete's mouth. Pete sits up, wiping his mouth and looking pleased with himself. “That was a new record,” he remarks.

Patrick is both come-struck and outraged. “What - what the fuck, Pete?!” he splutters, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. He hadn't even gotten to appreciate the orgasm.

Pete raises his eyebrows and smirks. “By the time I'm ready, you'll be ready to go again.”

_That's - that's actually a great idea_ , Patrick thinks grudgingly, but he's not going to say that out loud. Despite ejaculating, he’s still hard, although not hard-to-bursting like he was before. He allows Pete to pull him back into a sitting position, and his brow unfurrows and his jaw unclenches when Pete starts kissing him. He can taste himself in Pete's mouth, which is something that used to bother him and made him avoid post-blowjob kisses, but recently he came to the realization that it bothered him more because he thought it was supposed to bother him. Pete certainly didn't judge him for it, and now he's actually starting to think it's kind of hot.

Pete's pulls away and lies back on the pillows, spreading his legs and wrapping a hand around his own cock. “Now where were we?” he asks, looking at Patrick expectantly.

Patrick hesitates. “Um, do I start over, or…”

Pete strokes himself slowly, making a thoughtful face. “I think you can go back to two.”

Patrick picks up the bottle of lube again without asking. Lubrication definitely seems to be the key here. Pete watches him squeeze another glob onto his fingers. “You’re doing great, you know that?” he says gently.

Patrick looks up at him, surprised. “I haven’t really done anything yet.” 

Pete’s expression is full of admiration. “But I can tell by what you’ve already done that you’re going to be awesome at this like everything else you do.”

Patrick ducks his head and lets out a disbelieving noise. Pete really goes overboard with praise sometimes. “Way to set the bar impossibly high.”

Now Pete is giving him that semi-exasperated look he often has when Patrick deflects his compliments. “Never with you, dude.” He settles back onto the pillows, bends his knees and tilts his hips. “Now put your fingers back in my ass.”

Patrick can’t argue with that. He scoots a little closer so that he’s positioned right below Pete’s hips, with Pete’s bent leg halfway resting in his lap. Pete’s entrance is visibly more open than it was before, and Patrick feels a little more confident this time when he brings his crossed fingertips to it. He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he pushes and his fingers slide in, eased by the coating of lube that was already there. Pete flings one arm over his eyes and reaches blindly for Patrick’s free hand with the other. Patrick laces their fingers together and rests their hands on Pete’s knee. Soon they’ve picked up a rhythm, Pete rolling his hips into the slow, easy slide of Patrick’s fingers, and Patrick can handle it this time because he’s not distracted by his aching dick.

“Now,” Pete gasps after settling back into it, “kind of spread your fingers apart, like scissors.”

_Oh my god._ Patrick does as he’s told, moving his fingers apart the tiniest bit, then a little bit more until he meets slight resistance, all the while moving them in and out at the same pace. “Is this okay?”

Pete nods vigorously from under his arm. “Use another finger.”

“Another one?” Patrick asks uncertainly. How many fingers are they going to build up to here?

“Don't act like you don't know you have a big dick,” Pete says, and Patrick can hardly believe he's blushing over it, considering his fingers are in Pete’s ass at the moment. “I don't want you to hurt me. Let's make sure I'm ready.”

Patrick doesn't want to hurt Pete either, so he does as he's told, slipping out his fingers quickly and then bundling them together with his ring finger before inserting all three. They go easily, and Patrick crooks them upward a bit, searching for that same little bump that had driven Pete crazy earlier. As soon as he finds it, Pete lets out a wordless exclamation and squeezes Patrick’s free hand tight, increasing the movement of his hips to set the pace, chanting, “Fu-fu-fuck,” as he tosses his head side to side on the pillow. Then he suddenly blurts, “Patrick - Patrick, I think I’m ready.”

The reality of the situation hits him, and Patrick feels a rush of anxiety. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Pete gasps. “I want to know what you feel like.”

Patrick’s dick is throbbing again. He may as well have not even came less than ten minutes ago. He slowly slides his fingers all the way out and decides to wipe them on the comforter, but way at the bottom where hopefully it won’t come in contact with either one of them.

“C’mere,” Pete whispers, grabbing desperately at Patrick’s shirt and yanking him close for an even more desperate kiss. He starts pulling Patrick’s shirt up his back, sliding warm, rough hands against his skin, but Patrick freezes when he tries to pull it over his head.

Pete lets out an annoyed huff. “You can’t fuck me with your shirt on.”

Actually, Patrick is fairly certain that in no way is it necessary for him to remove his shirt in order to fuck Pete, but considering what Pete is giving him, Patrick feels taking off his shirt is the least he could do. He cooperates with Pete's efforts to get his shirt up and over his head, and bites back his protest when it gets tossed carelessly on the floor. Feeling exposed, he rushes to get as close to Pete as possible, and he has to admit that the skin-on-skin contact feels amazing - they both groan as their bare torsos meet. Pete is radiating heat - it almost feels like he could burn Patrick - and he's firm and solid everywhere he presses against him, although his skin feels soft and smooth. Pete seems to want Patrick even closer, wrapping his arms around him in order to touch as much of the naked skin on his back as he can, and he buries his face into his shoulder, kissing messily along it, following a path down his collarbone. Patrick shivers at the blazing hot trail his mouth leaves in its wake. He has never felt this close to Pete before; has never shared this type of intimacy with anyone. And it's about to get even better.

“C’mon, Patrick, I want you to fuck me,” Pete says in a husky whisper. When he pulls away to lie back with his legs spread wide and knees bent, staring imploringly at Patrick with dark, hungry eyes, Patrick almost chokes on his gasp. Pete is truly gorgeous, and he's all laid out for Patrick. He is stupidly grateful Pete blew him earlier; otherwise he probably would have come all over himself right at that moment. He feels like he's moving underwater as he turns and crawls between Pete's legs, leaning down to kiss him again because he just has to. But then their cocks touch, and instead of kissing it's more moaning into each other's mouths. Patrick purposely tries to line them up and slide them together because they've made out many times now while rubbing hard-ons together through layers of denim and cotton, but this is the first time the hot, silky skin has come in contact. They're leaking all over each other and Patrick wonders why they never tried this before, because he's sure they could both come easily just by rutting naked against one another.

“Patrick,” Pete says hoarsely. “C’mon, let's do this.”

Patrick reluctantly stills his hips, and Pete fumbles for the bottle of lube. “You want me to slick you up?” he asks, a hint of a dirty grin on his face, and Patrick whimpers a little. Pete doesn't wait for an answer before squirting a generous amount into his palm and reaching down. Patrick eagerly pumps his cock through Pete's slick hand, whining when he takes it away too soon.

“Save that for me,” Pete says pointedly, and Patrick feels his anxiety level go up again.

He shifts nervously. “Um, so how…”

“Like this,” Pete says, wrapping his sinewy legs around Patrick's waist and tilting his hips up. Patrick's cock slips under Pete's balls, but there's still a lot of room for way more than a margin of error. Patrick is leaning heavily on his arms on either side of Pete in an attempt to keep his full weight off of him, so Pete works his hand between them to grab Patrick's dick, guiding it where it needs to go. Patrick's eyes widen when he feels the wet, pulsing muscle against the head of his cock.

“Go ahead,” Pete whispers, and Patrick can tell he's nervous, too. Patrick gazes down at him and tries to convey anything but the panic he is feeling. Pete's eyes look huge and a little scared.

“I’m going to be awesome at this, remember?” Patrick quips. Pete barks out a startled laugh that subsides to a soft smile. He pushes his ass against the head of Patrick's cock, with little effect. “C’mon,” he urges. 

Patrick wants to lean all the way back in order to see what he's doing, but he doesn't want to put himself on display, and Pete's hand is still there to guide him. He pushes forward a little, but it doesn't seem like that's going to work.

“More,” Pete gasps, his face flushed, trying to push himself down onto Patrick's cock again.

“I don't want to hurt you -” Patrick begins.

“It's fine,” Pete says, his eyes squeezed tight. “Just push.”

Patrick concentrates on pushing forward with a heavy but even pressure, and the head of his cock manages to go into the unbelievably tight squeeze. Pete's face is scrunched up and he's sweating now, and Patrick's not sure how to proceed. “Pete?”

“I think once the head goes in -” he gasps. He grips Patrick's waist with his thighs and thrusts up his own hips suddenly, effectively pulling Patrick deeper inside him so that the head of his cock pops through the initial resistance. Pete lets out a groan that doesn't sound entirely pleasurable, and Patrick gasps at the feel of his cock being enveloped in the tightest, hottest, softest pressure he's ever known. Patrick lets himself sink all the way inside of him until he has nowhere else to go, and again is grateful he'd had the opportunity to come earlier. 

“Fuck - Patrick - so - fucking - god - ” Pete seems practically delirious, muttering and moaning, and if Pete’s legs weren't vice-tight around him, Patrick probably would have pulled out. 

“Pete? Are you okay?” Patrick asks, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. When he gets no response - just more sweating and furrowed brow and tightly squeezed eyes, he says Pete's name loudly. 

Pete's eyes fly open and he stares up at Patrick a little wildly. “It's okay,” he says breathlessly, and he pulls in a deep breath Patrick finds himself mimicking. Their eyes lock and the tension seems to drain from his face, and Patrick can feel the way he loosens up around him.

Pete's hand goes between their sweat-slick bodies to his own cock before he moves his hips minutely, then a little more, and Patrick is almost overwhelmed by the sensation as he experimentally starts easing into the momentum. “Yeah, that's goooood,” Pete breathes, loosening his legs and allowing Patrick to thrust on his own. If there's one thing Patrick knows, it's rhythm, and he establishes a good one quickly. Pete angles his hips and moans so loudly Patrick swears he can feel it throughout his cock. They’re both wet with sweat - Patrick's eyes are stinging and he's literally dripping onto Pete. Everywhere their bodies touch is slick and searing hot.

“God - Patrick - that feels - soooo fucking good. I'm gonna come. Fuck, I can't -” Pete's hand is moving rapidly against Patrick's stomach, and Patrick can feel the way Pete clenches around him as his orgasm hits, tight little spasms that squeeze him impossibly tighter, but everything is so hot and damp between them he can't feel the come between their bodies. That's enough to push Patrick to the edge, but then he's got Pete encouraging him, “C’mon, Patrick, come! Come inside me,” and Patrick is coming his fucking brains out, making what is probably a very undignified noise, before almost collapsing on top of Pete.

He thinks he loses a few moments of time before opening his eyes to Pete staring at him, looking equally dopey and amazed.

“That was so fucking good,” Pete slurs, offering a lazy smile that shows up more in his eyes than his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees in wonder, leaning in for a kiss, only to gasp when he feels his softening dick slip out of Pete. 

Pete squirms a little. “That feels so weird.” He brings his hand up to the back of Patrick's sweaty head and they exchange a leisurely, open-mouthed, salty kiss.

Patrick knows they both need another shower, but they're fucking exhausted and Pete is being extra clingy, so they wipe up the best they can with Pete's discarded towel from earlier and (Patrick feels guilty but not guilty enough not to do it) one of the sheets, before moving to the other, clean, dry bed. Pete protests Patrick wanting to put his shirt on (“Patrick, when's the next time we'll be able to sleep together naked? Just try it; you might like it.”) and Patrick, recalling the sensory memory of skin-on-skin contact, surprises both of them at how easily he agrees. Pete backs himself into Patrick's chest as firmly as he can and pulls Patrick's arms around him like a straightjacket, sighing contentedly. 

Patrick nuzzles his face into the back of Pete's neck, smelling drying sweat and dirty hair, and feels like he's right where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on tumblr! (coastingon-potential)


End file.
